Training Practice
by May000
Summary: Naomi's relationship with her new capoeira pupil develops beyond just the standard teacher/student one.


Training Sessions

Naomi usually tied her hair back for capoeira practice, and working with L made the situation no different. Having hair swinging in her face while she was training was irritating at the best of times, and it often ended up clinging to the sweat on the nape of her neck, unattractively. Training somebody else added extra difficulty, even if it was somebody who picked things up as quickly as L did. You couldn't ever go at your usual pace, and patience was a necessity.

Naomi had realised long ago that she was no teacher. She was always too quick to irritation at somebody else falling behind, or getting things wrong, or asking too many questions. L didn't do too much of the former two. His physical shape wasn't as good as hers, but he was reasonably fit and flexible enough to take to it, easily. He told her that he played tennis, and that his handler and guardian had made him do yoga as a form of relaxation. This meant that his body was at least prepared for the versatility and tone that it needed for capoeira.

He did ask questions, though, and there was something particularly unnerving about somebody who was as smart as he was. Naomi had realised more than once that her own intelligence could set some people on edge, particularly when attached to someone of her gender. She'd even found this in America, let alone Japan. That was something about L, though; she never got the feeling that he judged her as a woman, just as a detective. He never used endearments and he never stared at her in a lecherous manner.

And once they'd got into the meat of the training, one of the best things was that he didn't go easy on her, and this gave her a good fight and a good work-out. She'd brought this up with Raye, who had told her that that wasn't good and she needed to be careful in case he hurt her. She'd said that L understood the skill she had and the skill that she needed to have.

Perhaps that was part of the reason why she'd decided to make herself into a sexual object to L, after all. Slightly bruised and more out of breath and sweaty than she'd been in a long time, it had just happened. And he had responded and gone pliant underneath her and she rather preferred to dwell on the sheer power of the situation than think of other things. Like Raye and work and the fact that L was the greatest detective in the world and so powerful that he controlled the globe's police forces. All of those things she pushed aside for just a moment because the adrenaline was rushing and he was so hot against her.

He'd said her name and she pulled away. He looked flushed, although his expression straightened back into deadpan fairly sharpish. He was young, she realised, perhaps barely out of his teens or perhaps not yet out of them, at all. Although that was quite impossible considering his status, of course.

"…Yes," he said. "…That was interesting."

Naomi felt weirdly satisfied to notice that he was clearly a little aroused, although his baggy sweatpants almost did a good job of hiding it. It was hard to believe, sometimes, that he wasn't just some trainee. His eyes, though, his eyes seem to tick, even then, as the cogs in his mind worked. Perhaps he was inexperienced. There was something quite arousing about deflowering, anyhow, but, Naomi considered, it became a little more so if she considered that she was teaching _L_, of all people, something new to think about.

So the affair had started. Naomi had found herself wracked with guilt for the first few occasions. As time went by - as she spent evening meals with Raye and _he_ made love to her in his gentle yet definite way - it became easier. As for work…she was sleeping with the man who could give any command he wanted, anyway.

There was always that undercurrent, after all. He could have turned it around on her at any moment. Even that, Naomi thought, was part of the appeal. She was playing with fire, no matter how young and awkward it looked. And, during the capoeira lessons, his movements became all the more precise and deadly.

Afterwards, she'd push him – he'd allow her to- back against the bench and forcibly prevent him from curling up into his guarded pose. She would press herself flush against him, and stop his hands from cupping her breasts when he tried. She'd pull him free from his pants and make the most of her position straddling him.

She'd look him in the eye and watch his mind ticking hard and analytical even though his eyelids were heavy and his white cheeks were smattered with a flush. She'd clench around him, guiding him on and pushing him back. The changes in his face were subtle but clear and something she made sure to remember since she knew that few people had likely seen that, before – and, possibly, few people may ever see it, at all. It helped drive her to her own climax.

It was one of the best things she'd done in a long time, and one of the worst. He could, she knew, make a stop of any time he wanted to.


End file.
